


running is a victory

by blazeofglory



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: Skeleton Island holds the greatest and most ancient treasure the world’s ever known—not that anyone’s ever actually seen it before. Captain Flint and his crew sail through treacherous seas full of English ships, freak storms, and at least one large monster lurking in the deep, desperate to find the island and obtain the Urca gold. That all seems simple compared to dealing with the charming yet duplicitous John Silver and the alleged Urca curse.Alternately: Black Sails meets Pirates of the Caribbean.





	1. Prologue (Gates & Flint)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!! This work has been, uh, a lot of work. I decided to tackle this grand tale of action and adventure as a way to challenge myself, since this is so different than anything else I've ever written, and it was definitely a challenge. 
> 
> The title is from the song "Run Boy Run" by Woodkid. I've got a whole playlist for this fic if y'all are interested. 
> 
> Some shoutouts: thank you so much to my lovely beta for so much last minute help and support (and dealing with the like 12 different breakdowns I had while wrestling with all the action scenes), thank you to both artists that I was lucky to be paired with, and (as always) thank you to Sina for everything you do. 
> 
> Links to the art will be added very soon! Get excited, the art is AMAZING. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this fic!

“You don’t want to do this,” Gates said in a low voice, casting a nervous look around the crowded tavern to make sure that no one was eavesdropping. “If anyone touches that gold, they’ll be doomed to live a cursed life, a half-life—”

“I don’t have anything left to lose,” Flint interrupted, a hard set to his features that made Gates well aware that there would be no changing his captain’s mind no matter what he said.

“Well, I do,” Gates replied, crossing his arms and trying in vain to ignore the way Flint was glaring right through him. “Most of the men may be seduced enough by glory and riches to ignore the dangers and follow you to their doom, but I’m not ready to sell my damn soul, and I doubt Billy is either.” 

Flint raised a brow, holding eye contact as he took a long drink. When he set his cup down, there was an unsettling smirk on his face. 

“Are you sure about that?” Flint asked, grin growing wider and more sinister. “Because I’ve already spoken to Billy and he doesn’t believe much in curses.” 

“Captain, this is madness—”

“Call it what you like.” Flint stood, backlit by the glow of a dozen lanterns, cutting an impressive figure that Gates knew very well had driven fear into the hearts of many an Englishman. “We set sail tomorrow, with or without you.” 

Gates watched Flint leave with a tired, frustrated sigh. He cast his eyes around the tavern, hoping to catch sight of Billy in order to talk some sense into him—but there were no Walrus men left in Eleanor Guthrie’s inn. They’d all, presumably, left for the brothel or for bed. He heaved a heavy sigh, resigning himself to renting a room and trying in vain to rest before tomorrow—despite his warning words, he would not abandon his captain, which Flint very well knew, the bastard. 

When Gates stood, he suddenly noticed a figure sitting beside a mostly-full bottle of rum two tables away—a man he’d never seen before. His dark hair was long and tangled and his clothes had clearly seen better days; he looked as if he’d just made port after a long, arduous journey. But his face was young and clean-shaven and his eyes were not weary like Gates had expected; the man looked up and his piercing blue gaze fell on Gates like he had been waiting for him. The man smiled. 

Though he was wary, Gates approached the man and sat down across from him, unnerved by his unblinking stare but somehow certain that he had something important to say. 

“Something I can do for you?” Gates asked in a carefully casual voice. The man just shook his head, looking far too amused for Gates’ liking. 

“No,” he said simply. “My name is John Silver and you should be asking what _I_ can do for _you._ ” 

 

* * *

 

“Absolutely not,” Flint said, frowning hard at Gates and outright ignoring the man seated beside him. He didn’t have time for this—a thousand things had to be done before they could set sail, and he barely had enough patience to deal with De Groot’s complaints about their course, let alone patience to deal with this John Silver. 

“He could be useful,” Gates insisted, annoyingly unquelled by Flint glaring at him from across the desk. “If we must seek the Urca, we should be as prepared and careful as possible—” 

“Exactly,” Flint cut in. “So what makes you think that we should trust this man? No one has the information that we have and no one has found the Urca yet or all of Nassau would know about it. He’s lying.” 

“I went alone,” John Silver said abruptly; Flint immediately turned his glare toward him and Silver shifted nervously in his chair, but kept speaking. “I sailed with a crew and led them as close as we could get to the edge of the world, and then I commandeered a sloop and made my way to the Urca alone. If I’d stayed with that crew, they would’ve found the gold but lost it immediately because they wouldn’t have been able to defend it from the first ship that tried to take it.” 

“So you came to Nassau empty-handed,” Flint surmised with an arched brow. “To find a crew capable of both taking and protecting the gold.” 

“Yes, and I can lead you right to it,” Silver said with a confident grin, clearly pleased that they appeared to be on the same page. Gates glanced between Flint and Silver, an apprehensive look on his face. Billy, who had been standing behind them with his arms crossed over his chest and not uttering a single word, looked deep in thought. 

Flint rolled his eyes. 

“I can prove it,” Silver declared, eyes bright and determined. Flint said nothing; he watched as Silver reached into his pocket and withdrew something small that he placed in the middle of the desk. 

A piece of gold. 

Unable to resist, heart suddenly racing, Flint reached out and grasped it, holding it up for careful inspection. It was solid, real, an elaborate skull right in the middle just like the legends told, and it was almost unnaturally warm in Flint’s hand. He looked back at Silver, considering him properly for the first time. He was attractive and charming, and he must be at least a half-decent pirate if he managed to find the lost Urca treasure. Flint was not at all inclined to trust him, yet he couldn’t deny that the gold was real. With great reluctance but outward nonchalance, he passed the gold piece back to Silver, who promptly tucked it back into his pocket, despite the curious eyes of Gates and Billy. 

“You can join the crew,” Flint decided. Before Silver could look too excited, he added, “But you’ll pull your weight. We need a new cook.” 

“I don’t actually know how to—” 

Flint grinned and replied, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 


	2. Silver

Silver was well aware that Flint didn’t trust him, and he could hardly fault the man for it. It would certainly work out better for Flint in the long run to hold Silver at arm’s length—or, more realistically, to throw him into the sea and let the sharks feast. But Silver was nothing if not determined, and there was very little he couldn’t do when he gave it his all. When he was feeling optimistic about it, which was rare, he told himself they may even end up friends. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

Silver looked up sharply, matching that sharp voice to its frowning owner. Captain Flint was towering over him, as angry and ginger as he’d been every time Silver had seen the man. He wondered, idly, if Flint’s face even knew how to form a smile that wasn’t terrifying to behold. He was a handsome man, there was no doubt about that, but Silver didn’t enjoy looking at his face much when it was always giving him a look of great disdain.  

“I’m making potatoes,” Silver offered with a genial smile that only made Flint’s scowl deepen. 

“You’re making a mess,” Flint replied immediately, glaring at the scattered potatoes, some peeled and some not, strewn about the floor near where Silver sat. 

“I did tell you I can’t cook,” Silver pointed out, laughing, and Flint, unamused, rolled his eyes. 

“I was under the impression that you weren’t a complete idiot, but it would appear that I was wrong.” Before Silver could respond with indignance, Flint was already turning to leave, offering only his parting words, “I’ll send someone to teach you the basic skills you need to not poison us all.” 

Then he was gone. 

That absolute prick.  

Silver continued to hack at the dirty potatoes, spitefully refusing to clean them now. If Flint got the shits because of it, he’d deserve it. Here Silver was, offering his help and his loyalty, and Flint had him _cooking_. It was insulting. 

“Bloody bastard,” Silver grumbled under his breath. 

“You must really hate potatoes,” a new voice said, and Silver internally cursed this god damn ship for being so loud below deck that he couldn’t hear anyone’s footsteps. He tossed the potato into the pot and looked up at Billy’s bemused face. 

“I hate cooking,” Silver replied petulantly. 

Billy huffed a laugh and pulled over another upturned bucket to sit on—it groaned ominously under his weight, but held. Silver was almost impressed. “It’s not so bad.”

“I hate your captain.” 

Billy laughed outright and conceded, “Yeah, he’s not exactly an easy man to like. But he’s your captain now too, so don’t let him catch you saying that.” 

Silver raised a defiant brow as Billy began to rinse off the potatoes in a bucket of water. “Or what?”  

Billy gave a small shrug of his massive shoulders. “The captain’s a violent man. We trust him to lead us and most of us respect him, but the last man to mouth off to him couldn’t talk for a month.” 

This was the man whose trust Silver needed to earn. Lovely. 

“He must like at least some of you,” Silver pressed, aiming for nonchalance and focusing on chopping so he could avoid Billy’s curious eyes.  

“I’m not convinced he even knows my name,” Billy replied, an edge of exasperation in his voice. “He likes Gates, of course, but they’ve known each other for at least a decade.” 

Silver made a sound of acknowledgement but said nothing, letting the conversation lapse into silence until Billy started walking him through the steps of dealing with vegetables and cured meat. Though still bitter that he was stuck playing the cook, Silver didn’t want the men to hate him, so he paid attention, learning at least enough to make the food edible. They’d all better be satisfied eating nothing but stew for the entirety of Silver’s tenure as their cook. 

After a while, Billy finally stood to leave, abandoning Silver to clean up the mess they’d made. He hesitated for a second, catching Silver’s eye and giving him a heavy, significant look.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Billy said gruffly. “Flint’s not the kind of captain whose good side you can get on in exchange for a larger share of the gold, if that’s what you’re after with him. He doesn’t _have_ a good side.”  

Silver smirked, amused; Billy must think he’s got him all figured out. Cute. “Don’t underestimate me yet.”  

Billy crossed his arms, clearly ready to give what would surely be an annoying reply—but the ship was suddenly rocking harder than before, a powerful wave hitting the side, sending the ship almost horizontal for one terrifying moment and knocking them both off their feet. Silver stumbled to his feet, bracing himself on the wall, and tentatively reached up to touch the tender spot on his head—it came away wet with blood. He staggered to Billy’s side, shaking his shoulder, but Billy didn’t wake. 

The ship was suddenly ear splittingly loud—waves were crashing into them hard and men were yelling, some in warning and some in fear; their words were lost to the howling winds and pouring rain. Billy began to stir, but Silver didn’t have enough time to feel relief before there was a heavy thud from up above, the undeniable sound of a heavy body hitting the deck from a formidable height, bones breaking and skull cracking on impact, and the yelling grew louder. Someone must have fallen from the rigging—the storm must have caught everyone by surprise, they hadn’t been prepared at all. It came out of nowhere. 

But as the noise reached a crescendo, it all suddenly stopped. The wind stopped. The rain stopped. The powerful waves stopped. The storm passed just as suddenly as it had hit. 

With dawning dread, Silver was suddenly sure that his bad luck had already caught up with him. 


	3. Flint

“I don’t like this,” Flint pointed out for what felt like the thousandth time. Gates heaved a heavy sigh. 

“It’s the whole reason he’s here,” Gates said, gesturing toward where Silver stood behind them, looking much too innocent to be believable. Flint narrowed his eyes and Silver’s smile dimmed a fraction, which was gratifying. 

“The change of course makes sense,” De Groot chimed in with a shrug. “If it’s the fastest way to get to Skeleton Island, then we should take that course.”  

“Fine,” Flint finally acquiesced, too low on patience to bother dealing with them any longer. It had been a hectic day, dealing with the fallout of last night’s sudden intense storm, mending the ship and sending a crew member’s body to rest out at sea; the last thing Flint was in the mood for was dealing with Gates and De Groot any longer. He dismissed the lot of them and rubbed his temple for a moment, trying in vain to jog his memory—what was the name of the crew member that died? Flint knew he should probably feel guilty for not remembering, but he couldn’t be bothered.  

After such a headache of a day, Flint was considering retiring early for once, if only just so he could be well-rested when he had to speak to John Silver tomorrow. Despite Silver’s idea to alter their course, the man was being rather tight-lipped about the information that he held, and Flint didn’t trust him for a second. Silver was up to something, Flint was sure of it, and he would find out what. But it would have to wait ‘til tomorrow, because if Flint tried to deal with him for even one more minute today, he would probably end up spilling blood. 

Perhaps Flint could ask Gates to deal with Silver so he wouldn’t have to; it was an appealing thought. Flint was contemplating just how annoyed Gates would look if Flint asked him to do that, when he suddenly heard a voice yell, _“Sails! On the horizon!”_  

Flint was up and out of his cabin in an instant, emerging on deck where Gates and Billy were already waiting for him. He hastened to take the spyglass from Billy’s hand, turning his eye to the horizon, looking around wildly ‘til he spotted sails, and— “Fuck!” 

“A man-o’-war?” Gates questioned, and Flint nodded. 

“Royal Navy,” Flint replied with a grimace. “The _Scarborough_.” 

“She’s far from home,” Gates said, a confused look on his face. 

“We don’t have time to figure out why she’s here,” Flint replied. “We need to move quickly.”  

The men set about adjusting the sails, getting the Walrus as far away from the _Scarborough_ as possible. Flint kept checking the spyglass, but the Navy ship wasn’t getting much farther away—she was advancing. They were being chased. 

“Ready the cannons,” Flint said to Gates— but instead of complying, Gates hesitated. 

“Captain, this is not a battle we can win,” Gates replied with a note of regret. Flint narrowed his eyes. 

“If we can slip away, it will not come to battle,” Flint said, still keeping a wary eye on the approaching ship instead of the frown on Gates’ face. “But if it comes to a fight, we will not go down easily. We will _not_ surrender.”  

Gates nodded once, though he still looked unconvinced. “Aye, Captain.” 

Once Gates finally headed down below, Flint let out a heavy sigh. Around him, most of the crew was busy, keeping the _Walrus_ moving quickly in the hopes of outrunning the _Scarborough._ What the fuck was the ship even doing here in the first place? They’d heard nothing of the English anywhere near the area— damn it, if it hadn’t been for Silver’s suggestion, the _Walrus_ wouldn’t even be here. 

Silver would have to be dealt with later.  

There was very little Flint could do but watch and wait. The _Scarborough_ did not slow. It wasn’t close enough to fire, though, and Flint took some small comfort in that. Gates was right, of course— if this came to battle, they would not get away with their lives. 

Well, he supposed some of them would be taken prisoner if they survived the initial fight— but their deaths would not be held off for long. Perhaps they would be given a trial, but perhaps not. Either way, a noose would be waiting for them in the end; that much was a certainty. 

When Flint and Miranda left London, they’d only had the clothes on their backs and precious else, no dignity and decorum left in them. On the trip to Nassau, Miranda had not wept over Thomas and the loss of the life she had once known. She had not been afraid either; she had been resigned. On the third night of their journey, she’d turned to Flint— and back then, he was not even _called_ Flint, and didn’t that just feel like a lifetime ago now?— and she whispered, “If you do this, if you become a pirate, you’re going to die as one.”  

“I can already think of a few people that would see me hanged,” Flint had said. He hadn’t been afraid then either; he’d been much too numb to feel anything at all. “I dare them to try.” 

He was not afraid now; he was fucking determined. He was going to find the lost Urca treasure if it was the last thing he ever did. 

The _Scarborough_ was finally starting to fall behind, yet Flint felt little relief. He would not relax until she was _gone_. 

“Captain,” De Groot said suddenly, a serious expression on his face. “The _Scarborough_ — she’s readied her cannons.” 

“To what end?” Flint demanded, incredulous. “She can’t possibly hope to hit us from this distance.” 

“Aye,” De Groot agreed. “But she may do it anyway. As a warning, perhaps?” 

“One lucky shot could hit us,” Silver chimed in. Flint turned to glare at him; he hadn’t even noticed Silver on deck. 

“Believe much in luck, do you?” 

Silver shrugged, nonplussed. “I believe in a healthy level of fear of the bloody British.” 

Flint grinned, wicked and feral. “They don’t frighten me.”  

The _Scarborough_ fired and they all startled— but the cannon didn’t make it near them, crashing into the waves instead. They waited with baited breath as each cannon fired and each shot fell short. Billy and Gates came up from below, and they all stood together, looking out at the _Scarborough_.  

“Should we fire back?” Billy asked.  

“And waste the ammunition?” Flint scoffed. “No. They’ll fall back soon.”  

Gates and Flint exchanged a long look— Flint was sure that they would have a lengthy conversation later about why the _fuck_ they’d been near the _Scarborough_ in the first place. Flint side-eyed Silver, anger and suspicion rising inside him. He wanted answers and he was going to get them. 

Finally, with the wind blowing strong in their sails, the _Scarborough_ fell farther and farther behind, ‘til Flint could no longer see its ugly sails marring the horizon. When they all breathed a sigh of relief and began to part ways, Flint grabbed Silver by the arm before he could scuttle back down to the galley.  

“I need to speak with you. _Now_.” 

 

* * *

 

“What was the _Scarborough_ doing there?” Flint asked, slamming the door shut behind them. For his credit, Silver didn’t flinch.  

“I don’t know, I had no way to know it was anywhere near us—” 

“If we had stuck to our original course, we would’ve missed it,” Flint replied, fists clenched to keep himself from grabbing Silver and shaking some sense into him. “I’m supposed to believe that you didn’t lead us right into a trap?” 

Silver held up his hands, placating, and said, “If I had, it would’ve been a suicide mission. I don’t want to die until I get my gold, you should believe at least that much.” 

Flint finally took a step back, leaning against his desk and breathing heavily. Silver had a point, Flint knew, but it was difficult to free himself of the anger that had begun to fester the second he saw that British ship. There was absolutely nothing more off-putting than the British, not even Silver and his ridiculous hair and constantly smug aura. But it was possible that maybe, just _maybe_ , Silver could be tolerated, if not trusted. 

Probably not, though he was at least decent to look at.  

“It’s a long journey,” Silver said, eyeing Flint apprehensively as he took a step closer. He looked dangerous in the moonlight flooding in through the cabin window; it suited him. “It won’t be easy, I’ll tell you that much.” 

“What did you encounter the last time?” Flint asked, crossing his arms.  

“Not the Royal Navy,” Silver replied with a snort, though his face grew darker a second later. “But the seas were unkind, the weather was wild… There were creatures down in the black, creatures that I had only ever heard tale of before. That island doesn’t want to be found, that much I know for sure. It will try to keep us away.” 

“I don’t believe in curses,” Flint replied sternly, despite feeling unnerved by the look on Silver’s face. “You made it there safely once, you can do it again.” 

“Aye,” Silver agreed. He was standing close to Flint now; when had he gotten so close? There were few other men that would willingly stand this near a man like Flint, and Silver did not even look afraid. He looked curious, perhaps. He looked… hungry. “I told you, Captain. I will lead you to what you seek. _Everything_ you seek.”  

Without meaning to, Flint’s eyes dipped down to Silver’s lips. If they moved just an inch closer, they would be kissing, and judging by the way Silver was looking at him, Flint had a feeling that he wouldn’t mind. It was a foolish idea, undoubtedly, and almost definitely part of Silver’s scheme, whatever that scheme may be—but Flint never was a master of self-control. He leaned in, their lips just brushing—

“Captain,” Gates said, throwing open the door, and Silver took a hasty step back. Gates glanced between them, frowning, but then his gaze focused back on Flint. “I need to speak with you.” 

Flint nodded once.  

“Sit,” he said, indicating the chair in front of his desk as he walked around to sit in his own chair. He didn’t look at Silver when he said, “Silver was just leaving anyway.” 


	4. Silver

“There’s another storm coming,” De Groot said, staring out at the darkening sky, and Flint rolled his eyes. “No avoiding it.”  

“Aye,” Flint agreed. Silver kept his distance, not wanting to interrupt lest Flint yell at him, but he also mistrusted the look of these clouds, dark and moving quickly. The wind was already starting to pick up, and Silver had an ominous feeling in his bones. “Do you think it will be as bad as the last?” 

“Worse,” De Groot answered, and Flint turned to look at him sharply. 

“ _Worse_?” he parroted.

“This one won’t blow over quite so quick,” came the reply. De Groot leveled Flint with a shrewd look. “Some might call it a ship killer.” 

Flint let out a heavy sigh, glaring out at the dark clouds. “Ready the men. No one dies tonight.” 

De Groot left to speak to Gates and Billy, and Silver approached Flint, pretending he didn’t see the annoyance on his captain’s face.  

“I’ve seen a storm like this before,” Silver said casually, as if the memory of it didn’t keep him up at night. Half his crew had died that day. “I nearly drowned and I’m not keen to repeat the experience.”  

“The _Walrus_ will not sink,” Flint replied with a snarl. “If De Groot says there is no way around, he’s right. We have to weather it.” 

“I’d offer to help, but I don’t think making a shitty stew will be much use right now,” Silver quipped. 

Flint glared at Silver, though it had little effect on him. He was getting rather used to being the focus of that glare, and instead of feeling intimidated, it mostly just made him wonder what other faces Flint could make. All he’d seen so far was stern, glaring, and scheming. What would Flint look like with a lover? Could that face get soft; would it wear a gentle smile well? 

Silver thought it just might.

“Speak with Billy,” Flint said, already turning away and fixing his glare on some other poor fellow. “He’ll put you to work.” 

“Aye, Captain.” 

 

* * *

 

“You want me to do _what_?” 

“We don’t have enough men to raise t’gallants,” Billy explained, crossing his arms impatiently. “You’re fit and you’ve got nothing better to do, so you’re going up there.”  

“I _can’t_ ,” Silver protested, grasping at straws. “I’ve got the balance of a drunken dog!”  

Billy sent him a glare, which was noticeably less impressive than Flint’s glare. Silver suspected it had something to do with the eyebrows.

“When I tell you to go, you’ll go,” Billy ordered. “I’ll be right next to you.” 

That was a little reassuring, but Silver was growing more and more nervous as the rain began to fall. For a moment, it was only a few slow drops, but it picked up quickly, raining hard and heavy all around them. Silver was frozen to the bone in seconds, chilled even further by the harsh winds that had picked up, rocking the ship much more than Silver was comfortable with. 

When the time came, Silver followed Billy and a few others up, hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick wood. Nothing about this felt safe. They clung to the masts, ready to drag the sails up at a moments notice, doing everything they could to keep their balance. Silver tried not to look down, but it was unavoidable— from up here, even Flint looked tiny. The sight of the deck so far below made Silver queasy, and it was rather hard not to think about the crew member who had fallen from the rigging during the freak storm just a few days ago. 

Before Silver’s anxieties could spiral any further, his attention was dragged away, back to the howling wind and pounding rain. The ship was rocking worse and worse by the minute, ‘til the sea seemed much closer than it ought to be, and all that was keeping Silver and the others up was the strength in their arms. 

“ _Hold on!”_ Billy shouted, and Silver could barely hear him over the rain and the crashing waves, but he followed Billy’s line of sight to the two men holding on next to them— and the ship dipped unexpectedly and they were all suddenly underwater, panicking and clinging for their lives. But it didn’t last long, Silver was soon gasping for air, and he was relieved to see that Billy was still by his side. 

But the two other men that had been beside them were gone. Silver hadn’t seen them fall beneath the waves, but when he strained his eyes, he saw one hand reaching up, before it fell below the water. 

Fear clawed at Silver’s heart, sinking into his bones, and he could not feel the cold and the rain anymore; all he could feel was the fear. It was everything he could do to keep his focus and keep his fucking grip, lest he fall right into a watery grave. 

Flint finally called out to raise the t’gallants and Silver and Billy rushed to comply, fumbling with the sails with stiff, frozen fingers. 

Through it all, the rain kept coming down hard and the wind howled, sending shivers down Silver’s spine. He risked a sideways glance at Billy, jealous of the other man’s strong arms holding himself up with apparent ease. Silver would be lucky to survive this. _Fuck_ , his time was finally running out. 

A large wave crashed into the _Walrus_ , sending them sideways once more, ducking Silver and Billy into the water and flooding the deck below. Silver could feel his grip slipping as the ship shifted, unable to find purchase on the slick wood— he felt the mast shaking, and this was it, he was going to die—

The mast rose out of the water and Silver somehow managed to keep his grip. He let out a relieved breath and glanced over at Billy again. He yelled over all the noise, “We’re going to make it!” 

But Billy didn’t hear him. The mast must have hit the water hard when they turned— Silver saw now why he felt that odd jolt— the wood had snapped. Billy was just barely hanging on, grasping at broken wood, fear in his eyes, and Silver reached out, barely stable himself, and grabbed Billy’s arm. He held tight, for what little good it could possibly do. 

“ _Just_ _hold on_!” 

Another wave hit and then _another_ and they were underwater again and Silver couldn’t breathe, there was water in his lungs, he couldn’t feel his fingers and he was going to _drown_ — but, again, they surfaced. He coughed up water and he clung to Billy, both of them shaking with fear and cold. Billy shifted, gasping for breath as he readjusted his grip, just as another wave hit and the ship jolted _hard_. 

“ _Silver—_!” 

Billy was torn from Silver’s grip, his fingers slipping ineffectually on the wood, and Silver watched in horror as Billy fell right into the sea. Billy was screaming, almost indistinguishable from the howling wind, and Silver was screaming too, still reaching out for Billy— but all he could do was watch as Billy sank below the waves, dragged under by wave after wave until Silver couldn’t see him anymore. 

Silver didn’t know how long he clung to the mast; it felt like an eternity before the storm calmed enough for him to feel safe climbing down. His legs were stiff and his fingers were shaking, but he made his way down slowly, falling to his knees on the wet deck. It was so quiet now, with the rain falling more gently and the wind barely even blowing. 

He coughed, retching up seawater, eyes burning. 

“Silver,” came a voice from above him, and Silver looked up to see Flint frowning. He looked like a drowned rat, his red hair wet and matted down and his clothes sodden, but Silver was sure he looked worse. Flint offered a hand and Silver took it, letting Flint haul him upright. He leaned against Flint heavily, catching his bearings.  

“Are you alright?” Flint asked quietly.

 _My fault_ , Silver thought, remembering the look of horror on Billy’s face as he fell. _He died because of me_. 

“Silver?” Flint repeated, softer this time, and Silver startled, taking a step away. 

“Billy’s dead,” Silver whispered.  

Flint froze. “What?” 

Silver looked away from Flint, his eyes falling on Gates, who stood only a few feet away, his face white. 

“He fell,” Silver said, looking Gates right in the eye. “I couldn’t save him.” 


	5. Flint

“Captain,” Gates started, then stopped just as suddenly. He shifted in the seat opposite Flint’s desk, nervously clenching and unclenching his fists. Flint didn’t have the fucking patience for this. 

“ _What_?” 

“It’s about Mr. Silver,” Gates finally said, looking wary. 

Flint leaned closer immediately, elbows on the desk, eyes intent. “Did something happen to him? He was alright last I saw him—” 

“No,” Gates cut in, frowning. “I saw him after, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I saw his face just as the rain was stopping, and he looked— he looked guilty. He looked haunted.” 

“Haunted?” Flint raised a brow, unamused. “You wanted to talk to me because Silver looked _upset_ after a storm that killed three of our men?”  

Gates sighed, looking like he’d rather be just about anywhere else. “I wanted to talk to you about the curse.” 

Flint leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath, lest he lose his temper. “You’re still worried about the bloody curse?”  

“Aye,” Gates replied, unflagging. “The Urca is cursed, I _know_ it is. And Silver knows it too, he’s seen it! Captain, our luck turned when we brought him aboard—” 

“Which was your idea!” 

“I made a mistake,” Gates said quietly. Flint stared at him hard, assessing the situation. Curses weren’t real and their luck certainly had nothing to do with John Silver. There was never any safety in piracy and they’d sailed far rougher waters than these. But Gates was set on this, Flint could tell. He knew Gates well enough to know that he wasn’t going to let this go easily, and Flint was already out of patience.  

“Silver had nothing to do with Billy’s death,” Flint said pointedly, blunt but not unkind. “He wasn’t anywhere near Billy, and I’m pretty sure they got on. I understand that you’re mourning—” 

Gates shook his head fervently, not swayed. “This isn’t about Billy,” he refuted, and Flint barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Silver is cursed, we need to get rid of him and abandon this hunt! The Urca isn’t meant to be found, we’re all going to die—”  

“That’s enough,” Flint interrupted sharply, and Gates fell silent, chastened. He glared at Gates hard, all sympathy over the loss of Billy fading fast. “You knew what this was when you agreed to come with us. You had the option to stay in Nassau!”  

“It’s worse than I feared,” Gates replied, beseeching. “Silver has to be taken care of, and if you won’t do it—”  

“What?” Flint asked sharply. He stood slowly, leaning his arms on the desk, hard eyes fixed on Gates. “Will you do it yourself?”  

Gates never did know when to leave well enough alone. 

“I’ll put it to a vote,” he said. “The men should get to decide.”  

“That isn’t going to fucking happen,” Flint replied, striding away from his desk in anger, barely keeping himself from shouting. The last thing they needed was a concerned crew member barging in and interrupting. Pirates were a superstitious group; Flint knew very well that most of the crew believed in curses and ghosts and luck and magic. Half of them were convinced that Mrs. Barlow was a witch, and at least three of them swore they saw a mermaid last year. 

If Gates put the idea into the men’s heads that Silver was bad luck, they would believe him. No matter what Flint said, they would believe Gates about this, those superstitious fucks. It didn’t help that they actually _liked_ and trusted Gates, and barely tolerated Flint. If this was put to a vote, John Silver was going to die.  

Flint was not going to let that happen. The Urca would be his. Silver would be his. 

He paused in his angry pacing for a second, shocked at the turn of his own thoughts. Yet, it should be hardly a surprise— he couldn’t stop thinking about Silver’s low voice whispering _everything you seek_. Whether it was a ploy or not, Flint wanted to let it play out. Yes… Silver would be his. 

“You can’t stop me,” Gates replied defiantly, standing and making for the door. “We’ll see what the men say.” 

“You are violating your duty to me!” Flint yelled, stepping closer.  

“My duty is to the _crew_!” Gates shot back, red in the face with anger. “I never should have let this journey begin! They trust me, _Billy_ trusted me, and now he’s dead!” 

Gates turned to go, but before he could get the door open, Flint was acting on pure instinct grabbing him, getting his arm around Gates’ neck while the man thrashed in his arms. He couldn’t let Gates go, he couldn’t let these rumors get out, he just _couldn’t._

“I’m sorry,” Flint whispered, holding tighter as they both fell to the ground. “This is not what I wanted.” 

With just a little more force, Gates’ neck broke and he lay lifeless in Flint’s arms, eyes still open, but forever unseeing now. 

The guilt began to creep in.  

Flint was shaking. 

“I’m sorry,” he kept whispering, quickly closing Gates’ eyes, as if that could possibly change anything now. “I’m _sorry_.” 

Flint held Gates close, cradling his lifeless body, and the tears flowed freely, guilt and panic and shame coursing their way through him. His quartermaster, his closest friend, dead by his own hands, what did he _do_? He felt the panic rising, felt himself about to be sick, when the door suddenly opened. Flint had his pistol drawn immediately, aimed at the intruder— Silver, with his arms up, shocked at the sight before him. 


	6. Silver

Before Flint could even lower the pistol, Silver hastened to close the door behind himself, grateful that no one else was nearby. If anyone else had walked in on this scene… _god_ , it was a terrible scene. Gates, in Flint’s arms, _dead_. Why the _fuck_ was Gates dead? 

Flint lowered the pistol, having apparently decided that Silver was no threat. There were tears on his face and he looked _lost_ , in a way that Silver never could have imagined seeing on the fearsome captain’s face. It was startling and it was _dangerous_. Apparently Flint was capable of much more than Silver had ever thought, to murder his own quartermaster with his bare hands…  

“I don’t need to know what happened,” Silver said quietly, though he very much wanted to know. “I just need to know how we’re going to deal with this.” 

“We aren’t,” Flint whispered, voice breaking, as he moved one shaky hand to close Gates’ lifeless eyes. “There’s no way out of this.” 

“Take it from me,” Silver said, kneeling down and meeting Flint’s eye. “There’s always a way.” 

“Why would you help me?” Flint asked quietly, eyes narrowed. “What could you _possibly_ stand to gain from this?” 

“I have my reasons,” Silver answered cryptically, unwilling to show Flint his hand so early in the game. “It’s a shame, you know, that Mr. Gates suffered a fatal heart attack before he made it to Skeleton Island.” 

“A heart attack,” Flint echoed, staring down at the body in his arms blankly. “Yes... A shame his health was so poor.”  

 

* * *

 

“First Billy and now Gates,” someone said during dinner, and Silver stopped eating to listen. He couldn’t quite place the voice— despite having been aboard the _Walrus_ for some time now, he didn’t know the crew quite as well as he wanted to. He wanted to turn and look at who was speaking, but he decided to wait, lest he get caught eavesdropping. It wouldn’t do to bring attention to himself. The voice continued in a whisper, “No one’s left to keep the captain in check.” 

“And you’d be stupid to try,” another voice replied in a hiss. “Talk too much and the captain will get tired of you too. A _heart attack_? Gates went into Flint’s cabin alone and never walked out and we’re supposed to believe he had a bloody heart attack.” 

“Flint’s mad if he thinks he’ll have any allies left by the time we get to the Urca,” the first man replied with a snort. “Once we get the gold and get back to Nassau, I’m done with him. We won’t need him anymore.” 

“Aye,” answered the other voice. He burped loudly. “I’m gonna take as much gold as I can carry and buy enough whores to tire me out. I’m never going to think about Flint again.” 

Silver focused on his meal again once their conversation took a turn for the disgusting. Their words were worrying— were others thinking the same things? Really, they’d be naive if they weren’t. Though Flint had played no part in Billy’s fatal accident, as least as far as Silver was aware, he was absolutely to blame for Gates. Silver still couldn’t stop thinking about the scene he’d walked in on, Flint in tears and Gates dead in his arms. He’d played it cool at the time, but it was _horrible_ , and he didn’t particularly want to dwell on it. 

If the men decided to turn their distrust for Flint into mutiny, what chance would they have the next time Silver’s bad luck caught up with them? They could very well decide to say fuck this hunt and fuck the traitorous sea that wants to see them drowned and _fuck_ the Urca, and just go back to Nassau. And that would be very, very bad for Silver. He would not let that happen.  

When he heard the men behind him stand up to leave, Silver finally let himself look. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Dufresne. Silver blamed the clamor of the ship, the sound of the waves and the loud voices of the crew talking over dinner, for why he hadn’t immediately recognized Dufresne’s voice. God, Silver had disliked Dufresne since the second they met, when the man had scoffed at Silver’s admittedly awful first attempt at stew. All Silver knew about the man was that he thought he knew best about everything, and he’d been friends with Billy. That last bit was hardly comforting, considering Billy hadn’t particularly liked Flint either. 

Though there were only rumors so far, the men would find out the truth about Gates’ death soon enough. They weren’t the most intelligent bunch, but surely Dufresne and his companion weren’t the only ones who didn’t believe that Gates had suffered from a sudden heart attack while alone with Flint in the captain’s cabin. Once they started asking questions, the truth would come out, and the threat of mutiny would grow all too real. 

As if Silver didn’t already have enough to worry about. 


	7. Flint

In all his years in the Royal Navy and all his time aboard the _Walrus_ , Flint thought he’d seen just about all the sea had to offer him. She was deep and mysterious, yes, and he would never presume to know the secrets of her depths— but he’d sailed in all weather, amongst rough storms and rougher waves, and he was not afraid. He’d sailed amongst dolphins, sharks, and even whales bigger than his ship. He knew the sea and she knew him in return.  

It had been years since the sea last surprised him, but Flint thought that she might be surprising him again now. The water was calm and the breeze was light— they were sailing slowly but steadily. Yet, the ship was rocking more than it should, as if disturbed by something that Flint could not see. When he leaned over the side of the ship, peering into the blue depths, he thought for a second that he saw the shadow of a creature— but it was gone in an instant. It had been like that for hours, only flickering shadows to be seen, and Flint was beginning to grow unsettled. If this journey was proving anything to him, it was that this life of piracy was far more dangerous than he’d ever possibly thought to comprehend.  

“Something is following us,” Silver said, sidling up to Flint’s side and following his gaze down to the twisting shape of a sinister shadow down below. Flint blinked and it was gone again, disappearing back into shadow. “Any idea what it could be?” 

“No,” Flint admitted, frowning. Silver shifted just a hair closer, their shoulders pressing together. That presumptuous shit. 

Flint didn’t move away. 

“It’s harmless, though,” Flint continued, though he knew very well that he might be lying. “It can’t possibly be big enough to do any damage to the ship.” 

Silver shot Flint a wry grin, backlit by the setting sun, awash in golden light. His hair was an unkempt mess, but his eyes were brighter than usual in the sunlight, and his smile was distractingly attractive. God, this man was trouble, and Flint was all too aware of it.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Silver teased.  

“We _are_ in uncharted waters,” Flint replied with a quiet huff of laughter. “I suppose anything could happen out here.”  

“Aye,” Silver agreed, giving Flint an odd, considering look. He hesitated for a second, then said, “I want to talk to you about something… In private.” 

Flint raised a brow, barely fighting the urge to smirk outright. He knew what Silver wished to discuss, and he’d certainly known that this was coming. The events of the past few weeks had certainly delayed it, what with the frankly alarming amount of death and calamity, but Flint had known since almost the beginning that they would end up here.  

“Of course,” he said, and pointedly refused to meet Silver’s curious stare as they walked to his cabin. 

Instead of sitting behind his desk like usual, Flint leaned against the edge of it, eyeing Silver openly. Silver locked the door behind them, looking uncharacteristically nervous as his eyes darted from the locked door to Flint’s casual pose. There was something honest and maybe even _charming_ about Silver’s nerves. 

“You look as if you think you know what I’m going to say,” Silver said with a nervous chuckle. 

Flint stopped fighting the smirk and conceded, “Maybe I do. You’re not as subtle as you think.” 

Silver looked away, running an anxious hand through his mess of curls. He was still hovering near the door, looking rather like he’d like to walk right out of it. Flint stepped closer, reaching for Silver’s hand— Silver’s palm was sweaty in his, but Flint didn’t mind. He laced their fingers together and squeezed gently.  

“I’m not sure you understand,” Silver whispered. They were so close, Flint could count every single one of his eyelashes if he felt so inclined. Absurdly, he sort of did. “Captain, I must confess…”  

“I know,” Flint replied softly when Silver didn’t continue. Silver was clearly nervous, but Flint felt no hesitance, no shame. They both wanted this, and that much had been clear since they met. What was the use in putting it off any longer?  

 _I’ve killed for you_ , Flint thought as his eyes darted down to Silver’s lips. _I’d do it again if I had to_. 

Flint squeezed Silver’s hand once more, then leaned in and kissed him. Silver froze for a second, but then he was kissing back, hard and hungry, and _yes_ , this was what Flint had been dreaming of for _weeks_. Silver’s lips were chapped against his own, his beard scratching at Flint’s face in the most delicious way, and Flint couldn’t get enough. When they parted, Silver was breathless and stunned; Flint was smug.  

“I still need to explain,” Silver said, frowning, face flushed pink. Flint couldn’t help but smile.  

“I think I understand well enough.” He raised his free hand to gently cup Silver’s face, and Silver’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact. Flint leaned in to kiss him again, but Silver suddenly let go of Flint’s hand and stepped away, glancing at the locked door once more.  

“No, you don’t understand. Captain—”  

_Thud._

“What was that?” Flint asked sharply as he heard a second loud thump echo through the ship. Silver shot Flint one last look, then he hastily unlocked the door and they exited the cabin, entering the chaos that lay just outside. Men were running in every direction, several shouting, and there was water and splintered wood and _blood_ on the floor. 

Flint watched in horror as the culprit revealed itself— right beside the ship, rising menacingly out of the water, was one large, unblinking eye. 


	8. Silver

Silver hardly had any time to process what he was seeing before something very _large_ was moving right toward him at an alarming speed. Flint grabbed Silver by the arm, yanking him out of the way right as a huge tentacle hit the deck, right where Silver had been standing.  

“What the _fuck_?” Silver demanded, taking a few hasty steps farther away, dragging Flint with him. Someone was screaming and there was another _thud_ and then another, and the ship rocked dangerously. 

Everywhere Silver looked, more and more tentacles were rising up from the sea, revealing a monster the likes of which Silver had never seen before. The kraken was impossibly huge and it was _angry_ and it was swiping at Silver again—

Flint drew his cutlass and Silver did the same, and they both swung out to hit the monstrous limbs reaching for them. Silver was fairly useless with a sword, but it wasn’t like the kraken had a sword too— yet, even when his blade struck true, the tentacle kept coming. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flint cut a tentacle right in half, hacking at it with an angry yell. 

Silver watched in horror as the tentacle, raining down black blood from its wound, still kept reaching for Flint.  

His gaze was torn away at the sound of another scream— a man with a face so bloody that Silver couldn’t even recognize it had a tentacle wrapped tight around his torso, choking the life from him. Silver stumbled forward, fending off the tentacle attacking him long enough to reach his fellow crew member— but there was no time. Another tentacle emerged from the water and seized the man, and the two tentacles tore him right in half, spraying Silver with hot, wet blood, and sending him staggering back. 

A hopeless thought entered Silver’s head, desperate to know, _How can we possibly survive this?_

In the chaos, Silver had lost sight of Flint, but there was very little opportunity to pause and look for him. The ship was surrounded, tentacles rising up from all sides, from a beast of a size that Silver could scarcely comprehend. He swung at every tentacle that came near, and they just kept coming and _coming_. All around him, men were fighting and men were dying. The ship was rocking hard, _thud_ after _thud_ shaking the deck as each tentacle landed heavily among them.  

Somehow, over the deafening din, Silver heard Flint’s voice yell, “ _The cannons! Fire the bloody cannons!”_  

Silver turned to the man closest closest to him, Dooley, and shouted, “Man the cannons! Gather everyone you can!”  

“Aye!” Dooley shouted back, and Silver focused on fighting all of the kraken’s many sinister limbs while Dooley scrambled below deck. 

Silver hacked at a tentacle and ducked below another, leaving a trail of dark blood in his wake as he slowly made his way toward Flint. His heart was racing, he’d never been more terrified in his fucking life, but _god_ , he was determined not to fucking die. Not him and not Flint, not fucking yet. He finally made it back to Flint’s side, finding his captain in a fleeting moment of reprieve, gasping for breath. He was covered in blood, both the red of men and the black of monster. Silver was sure he looked much the same himself.  

“Silver,” Flint gasped out, reaching for Silver’s shoulder with the hand not holding his bloody cutlass. His eyes were dark, intense and ferocious and _wild_. “I thought— for a moment, I thought—”  

“I’m not dead yet,” Silver replied with a breathless laugh that was all adrenaline. Flint opened his mouth to respond, but they were rudely interrupted by another large tentacle that they swung at together. Below deck, Silver finally heard the sounds of cannon fire— and though the tentacles did not yet retreat or even seem to slow, for one moment he let himself hope that they may yet survive this.  

“Silver!” Flint yelled, not faltering for a second in fighting for his life. “We need to aim for its eyes!” 

“Aye!” Silver yelled back. “Except I don’t know where the fuck its eyes are!” 

“Look down into the water, see if you can spot it and fucking _shoot_ it! I’ll cover you!”  

Flint immediately threw himself in front of the tentacle that Silver had been fighting off and took up the fight. The last thing Silver wanted to do was leave Flint’s side in a situation as dangerous as this, but Silver did it anyway. He stumbled over bloody, hacked up chunks of tentacles and nearly slipped in a pile of blood surrounding yet another body that was so mutilated that Silver did not know its identity. But he kept going, holding back the bile that he wanted to throw up. Every time a tentacle came near him, Flint fought it off, and Silver finally reached the side of the ship.  

Silver leaned over the side, peering into the water below, unable to block out the pervasive sounds of screaming men and firing cannons. The water was dark and churning, tentacles everywhere. It was an old pirate tale come to life; one Silver had never, ever wanted to be true. The old tales of Calypso and Davy Jones, sirens and magic and curses, they’d all seemed so exciting and appealing to him once; but the thought of a creature big enough and strong enough and _angry_ enough to tear a ship in two— well, that was the stuff of nightmares. 

 _There_ , just below the water, Silver was the same large, white, unblinking eye that had startled him and Flint what felt like hours ago. Hastily, he fumbled for his pistol and raised to shoot— and Silver was suddenly being dragged backward, hitting the deck hard, by a tentacle wrapped around his leg. He swore and tried to cut himself free, dropping his pistol in the process, but there was no chance that he could hit the tentacle without accidentally cutting himself too. 

“Flint!” Silver yelled, grasping at anything he could, but unable to find purchase, and panic set in fast. He was going to be dragged right into the sea and _drowned_ , and that was not how Silver intended to go. “ _Flint!”_  

The tentacle finally stopped and released Silver— he scrambled away quickly, beyond relieved when he looked up and was met with Flint’s bloody visage. 

“You took your time,” Silver said, breathless, and Flint gave a wry smirk. 

“I was held up,” he replied, offering Silver a hand up that he took gratefully. 

Without really thinking, Silver pulled Flint in by their joint hands and kissed him hard, forgetting about the panic and the carnage all around them for just a second. He held Flint close and Flint cupped Silver’s face and bit his lip— and they parted all too quickly. 

Flint took his own pistol and pressed it into Silver’s hand, then abruptly turned and swung at the tentacle headed their way. 

“Go!” Flint shouted. “Kill the beast!” 

Silver ran back to the side of the ship, heart racing in his chest and pistol at the ready— he leaned over and spotted the eye once more. He held the pistol as steadily as he could, trying to aim despite the way his hand was violently shaking, and he fired right into the eye. For one long moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. 

Then a terrible, unearthly wail echoed out from deep below the waves, and the ship rocked as the tentacles retreated as one, many bleeding and missing large chunks. They slid back into the water and the cry finally came to an end, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. 

The hairs on the back of Silver’s neck were standing up as he watched, horrified and awestruck and _alive_ , as the kraken sank down into the deep, ‘til he could not see even one tentacle any longer. Silver was under no illusion that the beast was dead, but it was incapacitated enough to leave them be, and that was enough for now. He dragged his eyes away, his gaze finding Flint’s all too easily, and he nodded once. Flint nodded back. 

 

* * *

 

While Flint and the men— what’s left of them— assessed the losses to the crew and the damages to the ship, Silver and De Groot assessed where exactly they had ended up as the ship had drifted in the wake of the kraken attack. Silver leaned against the side of the ship, elbows on the bloodstained wood, squinting through the fog surrounding them, just barely able to discern their surroundings at all. It seemed to be a small, rocky island, barren and desolate. The only signs of life were the shipwrecks. 

At least a dozen other ships had met their fate here, perhaps fellow prey of the kraken or perhaps just from the dangerous rocks disguised by the persistent fog. The _Walrus_ looked little better than the other ships around them, half-sunk into the water and full of holes. All these ships, and not a single sign of life— Silver knew that if they did not manage to repair the _Walrus_ quickly, they would be just as dead as every other pour soul that had crashed here. 

Silver already knew that they’d come to the right place, even before his eyes caught on the shadow of a larger island in the distance, just barely visible through the fog. Skeleton Island was close— the kraken had delivered them right to the Urca’s doorstep.  

“We’re lost,” De Groot declared, frustrated and half-drowned. Admittedly, he did look like he’d seen better days. His eyes narrowed when Silver laughed. “We have no idea where we’re stranded, there’s no way we’ll find the Urca now.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Silver replied, too giddy and exhausted and _relieved_ to keep it to himself. Excitement coursed through him— everything had been going wrong for nigh on a year, ever since his feet first touched the sand on Skeleton Island. Finally, kraken notwithstanding, things were going _right_. 

“You know where we are?” Flint asked, suddenly right behind Silver, and he jumped. 

“We’re lost,” Silver declared, grinning in the face of De Groot’s tired sigh and Flint’s steely expression. “But you see… You have to be lost to find a place that can’t be found, or everyone would know where it was.” 

The anger was gone from Flint’s face as quickly as it had come; now he looked rather like he was thinking about kissing Silver again. If De Groot wasn’t still standing next to them, Silver didn’t think he would’ve been able to stop himself from sinking his fingers into Flint’s long hair and dragging him into another filthy kiss. 

Though Silver hadn’t gone to Flint’s cabin earlier to seduce him, he certainly hadn’t minded the outcome. The thought of kissing Flint longer and _harder_ , without interruption and threat of death, was certainly appealing. For a second, he thought about faking some pretense to get Flint alone in his cabin, before he remembered that the cabin had just been destroyed by a giant sea creature. 

“We’re close,” Flint surmised, a dangerous glint in his eyes. As far as Flint knew, he was on the verge of success; Silver looked away quickly, lest Flint spy the guilt in his eyes. It was too late for guilt; he’d already come this far. There was no going back, not if he wanted to live. 

“Aye,” Silver agreed with a nod. “The Urca is within our grasp.” 


	9. Flint

Though over half the crew had not survived the journey thus far, and most of the remaining men were injured, repairing the _Walrus_ had to be their top priority. Even with the Urca close at hand, success was far from a guarantee. First, the _Walrus_ had to be made seaworthy once more, and then they had to make it past the kraken _again_ to get home. Flint hardly had a clue how they were going to do it. By all accounts, it seemed rather hopeless. 

But those worries would hold until later— they’d made this far, and he just… he had to see the gold for himself to remember why this whole journey was even worth the trouble. The gold would mean safety and freedom for himself, for Miranda, for all of Nassau. Gates’ death, the guilt that kept him up at night, wouldn’t be for nothing. Maybe Flint could even find peace with Thomas’ death, after all this time. Maybe the Urca would bring him the peace he’d been so desperately craving for ten years now. Perhaps he did not deserve a life of peace, but he yearned for it nonetheless. 

Flints set De Groot to overseeing the repairs while he was gone, and he only hesitated for a second before inviting Silver to join him. It could be dangerous to go alone— and, well, he had more than half a mind to fuck Silver on a pile of gold if the opportunity presented itself. He’d been entertaining the thought for several days now, lingering on it every time he laid down to sleep, before he could succumb to the nightmares.  

The men watched with wary eyes as Flint and Silver rowed away. All the trouble of finding the Urca, now the fortune and glory was at their fingertips, but after the kraken attack, not a single man looked even remotely excited. They looked tired; they looked _angry_. Flint knew very well that he would have a mutiny on his hands if they didn’t make it home safely with the treasure. With Gates and Billy dead, who was left to usurp his captaincy? _Dufresne?_ He shuddered at the thought.   

Soon, the _Walrus_ was no longer visible through the dense fog. Flint couldn’t see much at all, only the shadow of Skeleton Island in the distance and John Silver with his mess of curly hair right in front of him.  

“I thought you’d be more excited,” Flint said, and as he watched, Silver’s shoulders tensed. Though Silver had first looked eager when he declared that they were close, his mood had almost immediately plummeted, and Flint wasn’t quite sure why.  

“I just want to finish this,” Silver replied in a tired voice. “I’ve come too far to fail now.” 

“The Urca will be ours,” Flint said, forcing himself to sound more sure than he really was. “We’ll never have to sail again if we don’t want to.”  

Silver was quiet for a long moment as they kept rowing, moving slowly through the water to avoid the rocks and the wrecks all around them. Even when their path seemed clear, the fog was only disguising more obstacles, and they were careful to keep Skeleton Island in their sights, lest they get turned around. These would be dangerous waters to get lost in; if they lost sight of the island, they could lead themselves further and further into the wrecks, until they were stuck and deserted and far from rescue. There was no love left between Flint and his crew— no one would come looking for them, of that he was certain.  

“I never did want to be a pirate,” Silver finally said. “I ended up with my last crew purely by accident.”  

“Perhaps it was fate,” Flint replied sarcastically, but Silver didn’t laugh.  

All of a sudden, Silver stopped rowing and leaned over the side of the boat, brow furrowed. Flint stopped too and followed Silver’s gaze— there was something in the water. Flint’s heart was racing, fearing that the kraken followed them this far— they wouldn’t stand a chance against it in this tiny boat, they would be crushed instantly— but whatever this was seemed to be smaller. 

“Is that a hand?” Silver asked, voice deadly quiet. 

The fog cleared enough for just a second, and Flint saw it too. There was a pale, bloated corpse deep beneath the water, and its hand looked like it was reaching up towards them, but that couldn’t be possible— and yet, it seemed to be getting closer. He looked around, fear rising inside him— there were more bodies, dead and decaying and _moving closer._  

“Keep rowing,” Flint commanded sharply, picking up the oars again as he tore his gaze away. “Whatever the fuck is going on, I don’t want to see it any closer.”  

Without another word, Silver began to row once again, and Flint carefully avoided looking directly down into the water as they kept moving. Without meaning to, his thoughts traveled to Gates— moving corpses were a bad omen, at the very least, and his quartermaster surely would have had something to say about it and about the alleged _curse_ on the treasure that they were rapidly approaching _._ If Flint was inclined to believe any of that shit, he would be wondering if the entire island itself and the sea around it were cursed too— but such thoughts were foolish and he refused to think them. 

Flint had no idea how much time passed before Skeleton Island was suddenly looming over them, with her high cliffs and tall trees, shrouded in fog and wreathed by shipwrecks. He’d never seen a piece of land look quite so menacing before.  

Finally, they reached the beach and tugged the boat up onto the shore. Flint and Silver stood, still ankle-deep in water, and peered around at the jungle before them. There was something unsettling about the beach, and not just because they stood in the shadow of an ancient shipwreck. Many men had come here and many men had died here, that much was readily apparent. It was quiet as a graveyard— no birds cawing, no breeze rustling leaves in the trees, _nothing_. Even the water was calm enough to stay silent, and that alone raised the hairs on the back of Flint’s neck. 

“A place like this shouldn’t exist,” Silver whispered, standing close enough that Flint could reach for his hand— but he didn’t. Something held him back, whispering to him that Silver may not want that. Silver looked _haunted_. “Last time I was here, I was too transfixed by the thought of riches and glory to notice the signs, but I see them now. I’m not quite as blind as I was.” 

It was beginning to occur to Flint that Silver may, perhaps, be the only man to have ever left Skeleton Island alive, let alone to leave it and _come back_.  

It also occurred to Flint, for the thousandth time, that he hardly knew this man at all, despite everything that had transpired between them.  

“Signs of what?” Flint asked warily. 

Silver sent him a sideways look, the corner of his mouth crooking up into a smile, though there was no trace of happiness on his face. “I’ll explain when we get there.” 

Flint sighed deeply. “You remember the way?” 

“Aye,” Silver said, setting off across the beach and into the jungle. “I’ve dreamt of this path every night for the better part of a year.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Night had fallen by the time they made it to the cave where the Urca lay. Silver had confidently led the way right to this one cave, one of _dozens_ hidden amongst the cliffs and the trees. Flint stumbled over rocks, wishing for a torch, but after only a few moments of walking in the dark, moonlight flooded the cave from a hole in the ceiling. For a second, Flint couldn’t help but fixate on the way the moonlight hit Silver, bathing him in an otherworldly glow. He was dangerous and he was _beautiful_ and Flint wondered, just for a second, if he could be falling in love with this man. 

And then Flint took one more step around the corner and the cave opened wide, and there was the Urca. There were piles and piles of gold, strewn across rocks and spilling out of chests, glinting in the moonlight. It was everything Flint had been dreaming of and it took his breath away. This gold made everything worth it. 

Still in awe, Flint stumbled further into the cave, almost in a daze, and he stopped in front of the closest treasure chest. The gold pieces all looked exactly like the one that Silver had shown him all those weeks ago, down to every last ridge and detail of the ornate skulls. Flint couldn’t resist any longer— he reached out, grasping just one piece and bringing it up to inspect. 

“After everything, there was still a part of me that didn’t really believe that we would find it,” Flint admitted in a hushed voice, turning the gold piece over to inspect every inch. It was _warm_ , despite the cool air in the cave. “We could _buy_ Nassau with all this gold.” 

When Silver didn’t respond, Flint looked up, a broad grin still on his face— and he was met with the barrel of his own pistol in Silver’s hand, aimed right at his head. 


	10. Silver

“I’m sorry,” Silver said, voice thick with regret, willing his hand not to shake. His skin was still red with blood and he did not know whose it was; the sight of it made him nauseous. “But we can’t take the gold. That’s not why we’re here.” 

“Then why the fuck did we come all this way, if not for the gold—” Flint demanded, indignant, but Silver interrupted him. 

“I couldn’t get back on my own,” Silver finally admitted, relieved to unburden himself of this secret, no matter the consequences, and unable to look away from the horrible expression of confusion and _betrayal_ on Flint’s face. He’d known this was coming, there was no avoiding it any longer, but he was far from prepared. He’d never _wanted_ this, not any of it. “I needed your help to get here so I could return what I stole.”  

Silver took the gold piece from his pocket, the one he had carried with him for so many long months, still unnaturally warm but as shiny as ever, and he tossed it into the overflowing chest that Flint stood beside. It fell amongst the other pieces with a clink, immediately indistinguishable from the rest. It was like Silver had never disturbed the gold at all. 

Over a hundred men had died since the last time Silver had stood in this cave, appraising this gold. When he reached Skeleton Island the first time, he thought he’d found the answer to all his problems: enough money to get far, far away from the Caribbean and start a new life. But the ship he’d sailed on, the _Artemis_ , had never made it back to Nassau, and he was now the last surviving crew member. He still remembered, all too vividly, the way Muldoon had clutched at his hand and whispered, one last desperate plea, _Bring the gold back, John. You can still survive_. Muldoon drowned only minutes later. 

“If we take nothing from this place, it will be smooth sailing home,” Silver whispered, begging with his eyes for Flint to understand. Flint _had_ to understand; Silver didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t. Even if he could bring himself to shoot Flint, the _Walrus_ men would come for him before he could ever get away. There would be no leaving Skeleton Island a second time without getting Flint to believe him. “If you take even one piece, the sea will do everything it can to take it back, I need you to trust me in this.” 

“You can’t possibly tell me that you believe in the curse,” Flint spit, tossing his hands up in frustration, heedless of the pistol aimed right at him. “If there was a curse, you’d be dead already!” 

“It’s a bloody miracle that I’m not dead yet!” Silver fired back. “My old crew— I didn’t abandon them to find the Urca on my own. We all took gold, Flint. I’m the only one left alive, and I’ve nearly died over and over again almost every day! You’ve seen what’s happened the past few months, the danger I brought to your ship and your crew. That wasn’t all just bad luck!”  

“So you believe this curse to be responsible for the death of your crew,” Flint replied, cold and furious. “And you decided that your best course of action was to bring _my_ crew into this and lead half of them to the same fate. I don’t care if it’s not real— me, my men, we were expendable to you!”  

“Not you,” Silver refuted, shaking his head. “I had no other way to get back here—”

“Dozens of men are dead!” Flint interrupted, red in the face. “You so readily traded their lives for your own?”  

“We’ve all done terrible things to survive,” Silver replied hotly, quickly moving on from his guilt and rounding into anger. “Your hands are no more clean than mine.” 

“You’d have to kill every last one of us to possibly leave this place without the gold, and good bloody luck sailing the Walrus by yourself, especially in the state it’s in,” Flint sneered. He cast a pointed look at the pistol, then back up to Silver’s face, unimpressed and unafraid. Bastard. “I thought you were smarter than this, Silver. You haven’t thought this through at all, have you?”  

“I could kill you," Silver countered, grasping at straws, and he knew that Flint knew it. “The men already believe in a curse, it wouldn’t take much more to convince them to cut our losses and go home.” 

“You won’t kill me.” Flint stepped closer and pushed the pistol down; Silver resisted for a second before he gave in, lowering the weapon. “Now explain what the fuck is going on.” 

“Everyone who took the gold died,” Silver finally explained, shoving the pistol back into his belt and reaching for Flint with trembling hands, relieved when Flint didn’t pull away. He stared down at his hands grasping at Flint’s shirt, rather than meeting Flint’s eyes. “One by one, they all died, in terrible accidents and freak storms. I was the last to take the gold, and that’s the only reason I’ve lasted this long.” 

“So you came to put it back,” Flint surmised. He let out a frustrated sigh. “The men will never believe it. I’m not sure _I_ believe it, even after the kraken.”  

“If the men must take the gold, let them,” Silver responded immediately, finally meeting Flint’s eyes and taking in his intense expression, brows furrowed and jaw clenched, lit only by the moonlight. Silver was sure his own face looked much the same, angry and desperate and wary all at once. “But not _you_. Put the gold down and walk away, Flint, you and I can leave this place alive.”  

For one long moment, all Flint did was stare at Silver, and Silver knew that he was thinking through all the options. Silver _needed_ Flint to believe him.  

Finally, there was a quiet _clink_ as Flint dropped the gold piece in with the rest, and Silver let out a sigh of relief. Before he could even process what was happening, Flint was kissing him hard, his hands in Silver’s hair and biting at his lips. It was rough and it was _perfect_ and Silver lost himself in it, relieved beyond words that they might yet survive this terrible journey. 


End file.
